


Mine, Mine, Mine

by Cheylouwho



Category: South Park
Genre: Alcohol, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Intrusive Thoughts, M/M, Underage Drinking, Violent Thoughts, Yandere, Yandere Clyde, im very very very very sorry, mentions of masturbation but its really not explicit at all in that regard, mentions of vomit, non-consensual kisses, old 2014 fandom tropes back from the dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 10:33:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14134281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheylouwho/pseuds/Cheylouwho
Summary: It wasn’t Clyde's fault his fantasies about Tweek were so violent; he had it coming the moment he stole Craig away.





	Mine, Mine, Mine

**Author's Note:**

> hey @ me 2014 south park fandom called, it wants its tropes back
> 
> i apologize,,,, this is nasty and terrible in all shapes and forms, but i wanted to (hopefully tastefully?) revisit something popular from ye old four years ago.

If Craig knew the things that ran though Clyde’s mind when he looked at him, he would hate him.

There were so many things he wished he could allow to escape his lips as he fiddled with the straw on his lemonade, the other hand’s fingers tapping against the wood-grain of the booth table. He wished he could whisper sweet nothings in Craig’s ear, to grab at the hand picking apart bits of napkin and hold it lovingly to his chest, to kiss his face with the gentlest touches that he could manage. He wanted to embrace him close and let him feel his heartbeat, to know how fast it went when he was near.

He wanted him to hear just how hard it thumped for _him,_ and him alone _._ That it was _his_ fault that Clyde came undone every time he spoke. That it was _his_ fault that he felt lost every time he went away.

“Clyde?”

The sweet voice calling his name drew him back from his internal monologue, eyes blinking rapidly as he jolted back to reality. His fingers had crushed the straw into an odd shape, his other hand suddenly digging its nails into the skin of his thigh. The lights of the café seemed so dull compared to the beautiful boy staring him down across the table, blue eyes full of concern.

“Clyde?” he said again, licking at his lips. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Sorry,” he muttered stupidly, tilting his head in frustration. How _dare_ he waste such a precious moment with his fantasies? “I was thinking about school stuff, just got off track.” _Terrible. Disgusting. Idiot._

“It’s fine,” Craig assured him, taking a sip from the double-strawed milkshake sitting slightly to his right. It was nearly half-empty, whipped cream melting into strawberry syrup as the cherry sunk towards the bottom of the glass.

Clyde wanted to blurt that it wasn’t okay, that he should have been paying attention, but something told him that would only make things more awkward. He instead forced a smile, letting a sigh slip as he admired the way Craig grinned back. His teeth were slightly crooked, but that didn’t matter; there was nothing better than the way that smile could make him feel.

Those feelings vanished immediately when he realized who Craig was _really_ smiling at.

Tweek let out a small squeak as he slid back into the booth, cozying right up to his boyfriend without a second thought. “Back,” he said, fiddling with the hem of his shirt before looking back up just in time for Craig to press a kiss to the side of his temple.

It was sickening.

Clyde felt his fingers dig into his thigh through his jeans again, unable to look away from the scene unfolding before him. Tweek’s head fell to the side, bumping up against Craig’s shoulder as he glanced up with adoring eyes. If only he’d just stayed in the bathroom forever instead of coming back to ruin what would have shaped up to be a great moment.

_Wouldn’t it be lovely if he was gone? Erase him from the face of this earth could be as easy as snipping his face out of a photograph._

Clyde hadn’t even known Tweek was going to be at the café when Craig had invited him out to lunch, and now he half regretted coming along. There was no person he resented more than the blond disaster giggling across the table. Of all the people Craig could have dated, it was the scrawny coffee addict who had more than just a few screws loose. Clyde just couldn’t see the appeal; he was loud and he was jumpy and he was annoying. He didn’t deserve the way Craig looked at him like he was the most special thing in the world. He didn’t deserve the way he kissed him.

_Tear open his ribs, take out his still beating heart and smash it on the floor as if it were nothing but glass._

Clyde’s fingers twitched as he let his palms fall flat against his knees, not even bothering to disguise the look of displeasure on his face. Tweek’s hazel eyes suddenly met his, and he swore he saw something mischievous glinting in those dark pools. It was as if he was laughing inside at his unholy seduction, teasing Clyde about his loss. He was a demon sent to torture him, no doubt.

_Send the monster back where he came, back to the red flames of hell. Red, like the color of blood seeping from his chest when you stab him with your pocket knife. Red, like the color of his eyes when you choke away the last bits of life from his body. Red, like the stains on your jeans when you drop his lifeless form against the mismatched café floor tiles._

“Clyde, seriously, stop spacing out!”

Clyde jumped for a second time, an audible gasp escaping his lips in shock. It took every ounce of self-control to keep himself from slamming his head against the table in frustration and guilt. It wasn’t his fault his fantasies were so violent; the thoughts seemed to come and go no matter how hard he tried to keep them pushed away.

“This is like, the third time since we got here,” Tweek said, voice full of concern.

Clyde shook his head, forcing another smile. “Sorry,” he said, trying to think of another excuse. He didn’t want Tweek to speak to him, let alone look his direction. If he had his way, he’d blind those hypnotic orbs with a fork and free Craig from the spell. “I was just thinking again.”

“Well, stop thinking, I was trying to ask you a question,” Craig continued, rolling his eyes. “Seriously, do you need us to bring anything with us tonight?”

Clyde leaned forward, hands against his chin. Ah, this was better; a voice he actually enjoyed listening to. “Nah, I’ve got everything covered,” he said, trying to play it casual despite the pounding in his chest from their brief eye contact. One of the few upsides of having a single father was that the house was completely empty until Monday while he was busied with a work trip. It was the perfect opportunity for Clyde to cement his standing in the high school hierarchy by throwing what he hoped would be the best party of the year. “All you’ve gotta do is show up.”

Craig grinned, throwing an arm around Tweek. “Oh, great! We’ll come down a little early and help you set up, then.”

“Oh… great.” Clyde didn’t mean to sound so dejected as he glanced at Tweek again, the blonde completely oblivious to his dangerous glare. He’d originally planned to neglect inviting him, but he knew that Craig would become suspicious if _literally everyone else_ showed up instead. It was how things always seemed to be; going somewhere with Craig inevitably meant Tweek would be there too, attached to his hip like some sort of soul draining parasite feeding on affection it shouldn’t receive.

“It’ll be fun!” Tweek agreed, grinning at Clyde. “I mean, we don’t really go to parties, but if it’s your house it probably won’t be too crazy.”

“Yeah,” Clyde said, trying to keep from scowling as Craig kissed Tweek again, the two of them chatting on with each other as if the other boy was the only person in the world that mattered.

By the time their food arrived he was no longer hungry, appetite spoiled by the disgusting display.

Lunch seemed to drag on forever before the other two had finished their meals, Clyde claiming that he was saving room for party snacks. He was thankful that Craig picked up the bill; as much as he wished he could spoil him to the moon and back, he considered it payment for having to breathe the same air as Tweek for more than an hour. When they were ready they walked out to Craig’s car, all three of their rides home.

“I call shotgun!” Clyde was practically shouting as he sprinted towards the passenger sheet, selfishly pushing Tweek in the process. “You got it on the way down, it’s mine!” Tweek almost fell over, but it was worth it. That’s what he got for grinning at him next to Craig when they’d come to pick him up.

“Dude,” Craig scolded, letting him climb in anyway. Tweek didn’t seem to mind much as he climbed into the back seat. “You’re lucky I fuckin’ like you, or I’d make you walk.”

If Craig wanted him to walk, he’d walk a thousand miles. “Whatever,” Clyde sighed, leaning his head against the window as the car started up. As soon as Craig’s eyes were focused on the road he happily took his chance to shift his gaze, staring in adoration at him as he took them down the town’s main road. There was something so attractive about the way his eyes narrowed in the dull sunlight, how his jaw clenched slightly in concentration, how his shoulders wiggled along to the quiet tunes playing from the radio. If it wasn’t for the small noises and fidgets from the seat behind him, he could have pretended that they were the only ones in the whole world.

But no, Tweek was still there. He was always there.

Thankfully, the boy in the backseat had the closer house, so Craig pulled up into his driveway first. Clyde watched with an unimpressed expression as Tweek climbed from the car, scurrying around to the driver’s side as Craig rolled down the window. They shared a brief kiss before he waved goodbye, calling for them both to get home safe.

 _Disgusting,_ Clyde thought, unable to pull his eyes away from the closing front door as Craig backed out of the driveway. _Don’t you dare speak to me. I will get home fine without your words. If it were my car, I’d have run you over the second you--_

The sweet sound of Craig singing along to some dumb pop song drew him out of his intrusive thoughts. His shoulders relaxed and he released his jaw, eyes closing for a moment to relieve himself of stress. There was no reason to be so upset; Tweek was no longer in the car. It was just him and Craig and _Craig and him._ It took every ounce of his being to sit perfectly still in his seat. The hand sitting loosely on the steering wheel looked perfect for holding. His cheek looked perfect for kissing.

“What time did you tell everyone to come over?” Craig asked, giving a quick glance as his fingers drummed out the music’s rhythm.

Clyde swallowed down the lovely ache in his chest, licking his lips. “Oh, something like eight,” he said, struggling to remember. “Maybe eight-thirty?”

“Ah,” Craig said, nodding. “We’ll be there at seven-thirty then? Is that fine?”

 _You can come over at any time._ “Yeah, that would be great,” Clyde replied, his hands practically shaking. He tried to pretend that the implication of Tweek being along for the ride was not there, daydreaming for a moment how nice it would be to have some real time alone with Craig. He was already flushed in the cheeks from their brief ride together as they pulled into his driveway.

“Alright,” Craig said, putting the car into park. “See ya later, then.”

Clyde took another breath as he drank in his sight one last time. “See ya,” he finally said, carefully sliding out of his seat onto the pavement. There was nothing more he wished than to walk around like Tweek had, but he resisted. No, that would cause an issue, and the last thing he needed was for Craig to turn his back on him forever. He waved quietly as the car pulled back out and continued a few feet down the road, pulling into a driveway across the street.

“So close and yet so far,” Clyde mumbled to himself, trying to pretend that he wasn’t staring as he hurried up to the porch, fishing his keys from his pocket. The moment he stepped into his house, the wonderful warmth from their brief time together in the car began to fade. Now it was just Clyde Donovan and Clyde Donovan alone.

He kicked the door closed behind him, abandoning his shoes somewhere in the foyer. Being completely home alone was usually better than when his father was around; their strained relationship had only grown worse with time, and Roger’s general inattention to his son left him feeling abandoned. Today, however, the emptiness only made him angrier, allowing a pained cry to escape Clyde’s lips as he marched himself up the stairs.

“It’s not fair, it’s not fucking fair,” he chanted, approaching his bedroom. The door didn’t quite sit right anymore, so another harsh slam once he entered didn’t make a difference to him. The sound rung satisfyingly in his ears, legs quaking with frustration as he tried to find comfort in the space around him. His room was his solitude, the one place nobody else ever entered. He was thankful; he wasn’t sure what he would say if someone saw the wall closest to his bed.

All of his inhibitions were thrown out the window as Clyde grasped at his pants pocket, pulling out his pocket knife and flicking it open. In a blind rage he marched right up to the wall, staring at it for a moment. The whole thing was decorated with photos tacked in place with pushpins, mostly ones including himself and Craig. His knife hovered for a moment above a photo of their whole group, everyone smiling for a selfie. He’d already scribbled over any depiction of Tweek with red marker a dozen times, but it just wasn’t enough. Uncaring of the results, he slammed the blade right into where his face would have been, making a considerable dent in the wall in the process.

It was not the first dent.

It would not be the last.

He took at least four more swings, screaming nonsense as tears began to slide down his face. He hated him, he hated him, he _hated_ him. If he wasn’t so afraid of the consequence, Clyde wouldn’t hesitate to give him _exactly_ what he deserved. Craig should have been _his._

He paused his shouting, panting hard as he admired the stab marks littering the photo. They had almost completely ripped out any trace of Tweek being there; yes, this was how it should have been. The little _witch_ ought to pay for what he’d done, for luring Craig in.

_Wouldn’t it be nice to burn him at the stake? Just light a fire and say goodbye? Make him watch while you kiss Craig in victory? Make him feel your pain? Hear him scream? Watch him die?_

With another frustrated cry, Clyde dropped his knife on the floor, both hands outstretched to grip at a fistful of photos and yank them off the wall. Pushpins flew in all directions, but all he could focus on was ripping and crumpling the images into nothingness between his fingertips.

“I hate you,” he hissed at them, watching Tweek crumble towards the floor. “I hate you. Go to hell. Go to fucking _hell_.”

He could hardly care that his hands were littered in papercuts or that scraps of glossy paper were scattered on the floor. Instead he threw himself against his bed, rolling onto his back.

_You could lure them both into your room._

His fingers twitched as his hands ran down his body, curling against the waistband of his pants before the left snuck completely inside.

_You could restrain Craig against the bedpost while you take matters into your own hands. Make him watch._

He gripped at himself between bleeding fingertips.

_You could grab that little blonde vixen by his throat, slam him against the wall, hear him scream. Just pull out your knife and stab him over and over, just like the photographs. Just rip him apart. Destroy him. Stain the carpet with his blood. Watch as Craig finally comes to his senses. Show him how much you love him, right then and there._

Clyde could feel heat of guilty tears begin to roll down his cheeks as he jerked faster. He hated himself. He hated that he even thought about it.

All he could do was climax to the flow of deadly fantasies running through his brain.

 

* * *

 

By the time Craig and Tweek arrived, it was just past eight-o’clock.

“I thought you said you’d be here early,” Clyde said as he held the door open. At least a dozen guests had already arrived and were beginning to mingle in the living room, red solo cups already littering the dining room table as music pulsed from a set of speakers. He’d completely rid himself of any evidence of his time alone.

“We got sidetracked,” Craig muttered, Tweek holding tightly to his arm as he entered.

“Sidetracked? You live down the street.”

“At Tweek’s house,” he breathed, a look of embarrassment on his face. “Sidetracked.”

Clyde didn’t want to think about what that could have meant.

“Looks like you got everything ready just fine, anyway,” Craig said, shrugging. “I figured you could handle it.”

Clyde’s eyes squeezed shut for a moment, feeling robbed. He had been expecting a little quiet time with him, but now the party in full swing.

A shrill voice pulled him out of head. “Jesus, is that alcohol?” Tweek squeaked, already dipping into his anxious mode. “C-can we really drink that? Isn’t it illegal?”

“It’s a fuckin’ party, Tweek,” Clyde found himself saying, stopping the moment Craig gave him a glare. “I-I mean, come on, it’s totally fine. Just have one and nobody will know.” He hoped Tweek drank enough to get alcohol poisoning.

“Honey, it’s fine,” Craig said gently, walking them both right into the living room. As if Clyde wasn’t still holding the door. As if they hadn’t just completely left their host in the dust.

“Fuck,” Clyde muttered, almost slamming it shut. To quell his emotions he walked back towards the party, swiping two solo cups off the table with the intention to double fist. This whole event had initially been an excuse to spend time with Craig, but he guessed if that wasn’t going to happen, he might as well drown himself in his sorrows.

By eight-thirty, at least half their grade was inside of his house, drinking and enjoying themselves.

Clyde found himself on the couch, three drinks in and feeling worse than when he’d been sober. His plan had completely backfired, emotions amplified by the overwhelming stimulus around him and the haziness creeping into his body. Half a dozen couples were dancing on the carpet beside him. Craig and Tweek were cozied up opposite him, the blonde practically straddling the other.

“This was suuuuuch a fucking great idea,” Craig slurred. Clyde wasn’t sure how much he’d had, but careful observation told him that Craig was a lightweight. “This is a blast, holy shit…”

Tweek said something back, but Clyde could hardly make it out over the music. Instead he just narrowed his eyes in mild disgust as he began to kiss at his boyfriend, making a scene. If they both weren’t so intoxicated, they’d never get that touchy in public, and everyone around them knew it.

_Disgusting. He’s doing it right in front of you to tempt you. He’s doing it on purpose. This is all on purpose. He put the idea of the party in your head just so he could do this._

Clyde let out an angry shout, letting his empty cup fall to the floor as he leapt off the couch. “God, this is fucking terrible!” he screamed, pulling both his friends from their make-out long enough realize something was wrong.

“Clyde,” Craig called, watching as he marched out of the room and down the hallway. “Clyde!”

Clyde hardly heard him, storming past groups of people right into the lower floor bathroom. As soon as the door was locked behind him he let out a pathetic wail, slamming his hands against the sink and dropping his head.

It hurt, it hurt, it hurt.

“I HATE HIM!” he screamed at his reflection, eyes wild, hair a mess. “I HATE HIM, AND I HATE _YOU_ FOR BEING SUCH A PIECE OF SHIT THAT NOBODY WANTS TO LOVE, STUPID GODDAMN MOTHER FUCKING--”

A sudden lurch in his stomach sent Clyde scrambling for the toilet, heaving hard as the alcohol and what little he’d eaten at lunch purged itself. He sobbed and shook until he was finished, left staring at his own bile in weakened hysteria.

“Clyde!” A voice called from the other side, a fist pounding against the door. “Dude!”

Clyde just stared for a moment more, eyes blank. No, he couldn’t open it, not even for Craig. He was covered in vomit and crying like a bitch. That was the last thing he needed.

“Clyde, seriously, open the fucking door!”

Letting out another shudder of defeat, Clyde wiped his mouth with his sleeve and flushed away his mistakes, stumbling back to the sink. His reflection seemed to sneer at him. _Dumb, pathetic piece of shit. Look at you. He doesn’t deserve you. Tweek won because you’re like this. Suffer, suffer, suffer._

“No,” he choked, turning on the water just long enough to splash his face and messily rinse out his mouth. When he felt satisfied enough he unlocked the door, shakily opening it to find Craig staring at him.

“Dude, are you okay?” he asked, still incredibly drunk but at least a little more aware of Clyde’s discomfort.

“Fine,” he muttered, sniffling.

“You’re covered in vomit.”

“I said I’m fine.”

“No.” Craig was suddenly grabbing at his arm, pulling him towards the stairs. “Come on, you need a new shirt. Shouldn’t fuckin’…drink so goddamn much,” he slurred. Clyde was suddenly dizzy again, but not from the alcohol in his system. No, his heart was pounding as he stared dumbfounded at the boy leading him towards his bedroom.

This is what he wanted. Craig cared. Craig _cared._ He wanted him. He wanted to be near him, to help him. It was just them, alone, heading to his bedroom. It felt even better than the fantasies he’d played over and over in his brain. It was better than—

“What the fuck?!”

Clyde blinked, panic overcoming him.

His room.

His room!

Craig stood dumbfounded in the doorway, trying his best to take in the sight. There was blood still all over his sheets from his post-masturbation fit, the scars still fresh on his thighs to show for it. The pocket knife was lying neatly on top.

“What the fuck,” Craig muttered again, unable to help stepping forward. “Clyde, what the fuck!” Torn photos were still all over the floor, the remaining images displaying his insanity for all to see. Tweek was clipped and scribbled and stabbed out of dozens of photos tacked into the plaster.

“Craig,” Clyde muttered, suddenly gripping at him with both hands, fingers digging frantically into the skin of his forearms. “Craig, come on, it’s--”

Unable to stop in his state of high and panic, Clyde thrust his mouth against Craig’s, both of them stumbling backwards into the wall. Craig’s head collided with a sickening smack, his hands suddenly against Clyde’s chest in an attempt to get him away.

_He tastes like heaven, yours, only yours_

“Stop!” Craig suddenly shouted, kicking Clyde hard enough in the shin to knock him off. “What the hell is wrong with you? I have a boyfriend, you sick piece of shit!” In his scramble, he fell against the bed, knocking the knife onto the ground. “You’re fucking psycho!”

_Tweek’s corrupted him_

“No!” Clyde screamed back, practically crawling across the ground as Craig stumbled towards the door. “You don’t understand, you’ll never fucking understand!”

_Tweek ruined him_

“ _I_ don’t understand?” Craig shouted back, pointing a finger accusingly. “I think I understand PLENTY!” He gestured back to the wall of damning evidence, shaking his head in rage. “Don’t you ever fucking talk to me again, got it? Don’t you talk to me or get near Tweek ever again! We’re leaving! I want nothing more to do with you or your stupid party! Go to hell!”

_No no no no no no no NO NO NO NO_

“Craig!” he screamed for the last time, collapsing onto the ground as the door of his bedroom slammed shut.

_It’s over. You’ve done it now. He’s won, and you’ve lost. What will you do? You have nothing left. He wants you to go to hell? Go to hell. You were the demon all along._

Clyde let out a whimpering sob as he threw his hands over his face, left alone with nothing but his frantic thoughts and a perfectly good knife laying on the floor beside him.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry


End file.
